


if i let you down like i tend to (i'm a fool for you)

by onceuponawar



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/F, Rilaya, but really it has nothing to do with the lyrics, hartthews, i just needed cool song lyrics for the title, it's based off the song The Fool by Ryn Weaver, riley/maya, this was really sad to write just fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7957042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponawar/pseuds/onceuponawar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>riley likes to pretend she doesn't see the alternative shade of lipstick on her lips when she comes home late. but she's not an actress, and maya's not a martyr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i let you down like i tend to (i'm a fool for you)

she comes home late, a strangely large smile on her face. she’s panting, trying to catch her breath. she usually never runs, ever. riley sits on one of the crumbling barstools, reading a book from the small library in the extra bedroom. she’s put on her most famous “i’m bubbly and happy and have no problems” mask to conceal the concern she’s had since seven thirty. that was the time she was supposed to be home. it’s ten twenty-three.

riley just stares out of the corner of her eye for a few moments, watching as she strips out of the red knee-length boots they bought last month with the smallest bit of extra cash they had combined. they shared them, because money was too tight not to. finally, she leans against the door frame, yanking her phone from her back pocket, the screen lighting up her flushed face in the dark. she hadn’t seen her this happy in a very long time.

“hey, welcome home,” riley says finally, turning on the stool, unable to just watch her smile like the phone is her entire world. she jumps in surprise, the phone landing screen-first on the hardwood. she scrambles for it, checking for cracks. riley briefly thanks god there’s not any, it’s really the only thing that makes either of them look not-so-poor.

“hey honey,” she says, an almost fake smile replacing the beautiful genuine one from moments before. riley wishes she knew how to keep her mouth shut, she wanted the other smile back, not whatever was being forced her way right now. “i didn’t see you there!” 

riley now wonders how, the flickering kitchen light is on, not illuminating much, but certainly enough to see a body sitting on a stool not five feet from the door. she pushes it into the back of her mind.

“what’re you so happy about?” now it’s a faceoff: who’s mask can hold longer? and riley wins, when her’s flickers at the question. she doesn’t dwell in the victory.

“oh, i’ve got a show gig out in philly next week! it’s really private, only exclusive artists and a plus one only rule. i think i’m going to just take my mom to this one, if you don’t mind of course, she hasn’t been to a showing of mine in a while. but isn’t that great?! these people have- uhm, lots of money to spend on art, i’ll maybe make enough to get the oven fixed!”

riley grins, because the smile on maya’s face is infectious. even though at least three things in her story don’t add up (for one, katy had been to the last four showings) and she’s a little hurt she didn’t think about how she had family in philadelphia, she disposes of the negativity. what reason does riley have not to believe every word she says? maybe the look that she’s failing to mask, the one that’s screaming “please believe me, please, god, believe me”, but other than that? nothing. she loves this girl with everything she has.

so riley lets slide, grabbing a box of brownie mix they’d been saving for a special occasion from the cupboard. and with half-lit eyes and prominent “i’m happy” masks, they celebrate an art showing in philly that doesn’t exist. 

… 

she returns from “philly” two and a half weeks later, with nothing more than a hasty voicemail as explanation. the credit card bill shows maya checked into a soho hotel the day she supposedly left, and riley decides she doesn’t really want one.

… 

she smells different when she steps across the faded welcome mat. of course, it really only says welom anymore, but at one point, when they were dead ass broke and more scared of the world than when they were thirteen, she had bought that mat; brand spanking new. riley had been working harder than she ever had in her life, trying to complete her second year of yale in the tiniest apartment possible, with so much work in such a small place that it actually stacked around her in comically tall piles.

she’d told her multiple times that it would be okay if she lived on campus, really, it was worthless for her to be driving nearly two hours to yale and back two or three times a week for just a class. but riley had refused, she’d wanted nothing more to live with maya since she was seven years old, she wasn’t going to give that up then. even if the exposed pipes, flickering electricity and cold atmosphere felt more like a prison and less like a home. 

she’d never told maya as much though, because, by god, she was trying so hard to make this place somewhere they could live and be together at last. but finally, one night where riley thought for sure she was going to explode from the weight hanging off her every limb and organ, she’d exploded. she’d yelled that this place would never be a real home, that they could never be happy here. then she’d stormed out without so much as a coat and froze along the streets of soho. 

when she finally shoved down her pride and returned to their apartment, she was greeted by a purple welcome mat. it was large and fuzzy and the exact shade of purple her painted cats took the form of. at first she’d been angry, they didn’t have enough money for frivolous things like this! but then she saw maya, sitting on an air mattress and holding out a bowl of mac and cheese. 

“we can make this our home, riles, together. we’re going to start with that mat and this bowl of macaroni, it’ll be a great origin story one day when you’re the most famous author in the country and i’m your artist sidekick, making all your book covers myself.” 

riley had cried then, tears pouring down her face as she tackled her best friend, her girlfriend, her better half, her soul mate, in a bear hug. maya laughed, beginning to cry too, small tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. she’d smelled like cedar wood and acrylic paint and riley inhaled it like it was oxygen and she’d been drowning all this time. and she realized then that it didn’t matter where she lived, or what the accommodations were, because maya was her home. this smell, her lips, they were all she really needed anyway.

but now riley wonders if maya even considers this home anymore, if the words she’d said so many months ago were even true. she liked to believe so. but everyone had always told her she was too naive. 

maya steps right over the mat, something that was perfectly normal, but now it seemed more symbolic. she didn’t even give an excuse as she sat down next to her on the couch, snuggling into her side as if nothing were wrong at all. as if she hadn’t just arrived home late with another smell lingering around her like a toxic haze.

but she loves this girl with everything she has. she loves her no matter what the smell, she tells herself, no matter what the accommodations. maya isn’t perfect, no one is, no true home is. so riley lets it slide, trying not to choke on the smell of fake roses and pine that’s like a cloud hanging over her, over both of them now, as they finish watching the movie.

… 

she misses riley’s young lions fiction award ceremony. there was a huge benefit held, her name was announced, she got an award and a fair cash prize, everyone there was patting her back and telling her in whispers that her book was by far their favorite written for the contest, ever. this was all riley ever hoped for, people loved her work, they were talking about it, asking what brought on such a moving idea. she felt validated. publishers were there, asking her millions of questions: was there going to be more books? a sequel? did she have any more ideas? it was too perfect, riley felt like she fit here, like a puzzle piece, nice and snug.

then she took the stage. she was amidst dedicating the short novel to her “loving and ever supportive girlfriend” when her eyes landed on the empty seat in the front row. no blonde curls or bright blue eyes or happy smile, just a plastic chair glinting in the dimmed light, mocking her.

riley doesn’t stay for questions after the ceremony. in fact she races home so fast that she halved the time it took to get there. she doesn’t even make it to the couch before collapsing to her knees and sobbing into her hands. her makeup is running down her face in black tears, drenching her lap. the pride and joy from before is gone. those publishers caring about her work was great, they were important, but none of them were as important as her. 

she has never felt worse in her entire life, she is sure.

and then she comes home, so many hours later, and riley is still curled into a ball on the molding hardwood, dry tears caking her face. she wants to want to hit her, she wants to want to scream at her about the fact she didn’t even bother to smooth her hair down before coming back, she wants to want to hate maya hart. but she loves this girl with everything she has. and she can’t hit her or scream, because love means sucking it up sometimes. so riley lets it slide, as her girlfriend envelopes her in a hug from behind, warming her back.

… 

she has another shade of lipstick pasted sloppily on her lips when she walks through the door, not the color she left with. riley had been waiting up for hours slumped into the couch, biting her lower lip until it was swollen red. she’d tried sleep multiple times, each and every one ending up with her here: messy hair, smeared makeup, heart-clenching fear. fear that she wouldn’t walk back through the threshold of their tiny apartment.

only, now that she had, a perfect excuse on the tip of her tongue, riley wished she just wouldn’t have come home. at least then fear that she was drunk and lost, kidnapped or dead would overwhelm this other much more real fear that she was trying to shove to the back of her mind.

“riles, i am so drunk, i think i had some kind of lipstick escapade in the sephora downtown! heh, sorry i’m late, i totally missed our date didn’t i? i’m sorry, honey, i’ll make it up to you! we’ll. . . oh, i am going to pass out, like right in five seconds ow, ow, ow-”

this is not what maya sounds like when she’s really drunk, tipsy maybe, but her words are barely slurred at all, her eyes aren’t lit up with the fire there always is when she’s done something crazy or fun or stupid under the influence. but she loves this girl with everything she has. and it’s a valiant effort. so riley lets it slide, her girlfriend leaning into her as they stumble to bed.

… 

she doesn’t notice the full bottles in the fridge. or the empty ones in the garbage. she doesn’t know that riley has started drinking, a bottle for every hour past the time she said she’d be home.

… 

she walks back through the threshold of a place they once called home with a purple hickey on her neck. it’s not even hidden. she hasn’t even put some makeup on it. she hasn’t even shifted the collar of her leather jacket up so it’s less noticeable. and her shirt is missing, she’s in nothing but a bra and that stupid, stupid leather jacket from the waist up. she’s not drunk. she doesn’t give an explanation, there’s no excuse on the tip of her tongue tonight. she just peels off her shoes and walks towards the bedroom.

she doesn’t see riley hidden in the shadows, sitting upright on the couch, watching her every move. she never sees riley anymore, she’s nearly transparent. but if riley thinks hard, she wonders if she were ever really opaque in the first place.

she thinks better when she’s drunk, she decides. when she’s sober all she does is make excuses, let’s it slide as if nothing is happening. that girl never wants things to change, she’s scared of it. so she holds back. but the alcohol doesn’t make excuses, it helps her admit the truth. that there needs to be change. which is sad, she thinks, the fact that she needs to down a few beers to even think of herself first, to realize this is not what a healthy relationship feels like. 

nothing about your life is healthy, the bottle tells her. and she agrees. she’s been silent since she was old enough to understand that people didn’t need the real riley matthews, sucking it up every time she felt as if the world was collapsing, they needed bubbles. she had to be positive when no one else was. it was her purpose, the reason her friends were her friends, the reason maya once loved her. riley is so, so tired of being silent. but she’s trained herself for so long that she can’t even speak. but riley can’t let this slide, so the alcohol does it for her: “who is she?”

maya stops, riley stops, it’s as if the entire world stops. holding it’s breath. this has been far too long coming. 

the moments feel like minutes, droning on in the darkness, but riley isn’t impatient. “who is she, maya?”

she’s crying. riley can see small tears rolling silently down her flushed cheeks, glinting in the small sliver of moonlight coming in through the cracked window. her eyes are closed, long lashes fluttering. she looks beautiful. 

riley wonders if she’ll ever not think maya hart is beautiful. she guesses it’s not possible. if riley can think maya is beautiful right now, when she’s trying to get her to tell who she’s cheating on her with, than she’ll probably think she’s beautiful in any other scenario too. that’s the thing about beauty and love. once you’re in, once you’ve fallen, there’s no escape. even when the silence is speaking for itself, proving that riley just wasn’t good enough, she still loves maya. 

she still loves that girl with everything she has. 

… 

the confrontation was drunken, but riley is sober when she packs up and leaves in the late hours of the night. there’s no trace by the morning, she’s free.


End file.
